#its this constant back and forth of making me feel good and happy and like maybe they like me

[summoner-of-mist]

man im having a wanting to die kinda night again :(((((((((

im trying so fucking hard to make friends but i guess i just cant and just gotta die instead

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn���t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[short-honey-badger]

Stuck Between the Gator and the Flamingo

*PREVIOUSLY WARLORDS' ASSISTANT*

Wanted to try my hand at some Crocodile x Reader x Doflamingo. Hope you enjoy it! This is also the fic I've got posted on AO3, but I wanted to share Chapter 1 here since it can be read as a stand-alone. Any comments are welcome! Thanks!

BTW! If anyone is interested in being a beta, let me know! I can always use the help.

Warnings! NSFW, size difference, phone sex.

Masterlist

Come read more on A03! -> HERE

Being the personal assistant to one warlord had been tough for sure, but apparently you've done a good enough job that you were picked to be the assistant to a second warlord. So now, you split your weeks between Sir Crocodile and Donquixote Doflamingo. This week you were with Crocodile, the easier of the two warlords to deal with. Doflamingo was more of a spoilt child than a man. You'd found that out the hard way. Speaking of the man child, the blond would not stop calling your personal den den mushi, and you could tell that the constant ringing was getting on Crocodile's last nerve. 

"What is so damn important that the 'Mingo has to call you on my week?" Crocodile snarled and suddenly reached over and grabbed the snail from your limp hands. His sharp teeth almost split his usual cigar.

You watch in shock as the warlord answers the snail call, "Why are you calling her when you know this is my week?" He growled into the receiver. Smoke curled from his mouth as you watched it curl in the low light of his office. 

"Fu Fu Fu, Croco you sound jealous. Do you not like it when I bother our pretty assistant?" Doflamingo crooned over the speaker, and you watched Crocodile's face contort in rage. "I'm sure she'd much rather be here in paradise than in your dreary, dusty, desert anyway."

At that moment, you think that Crocodile might break your den den mushi, but the man's expression changed from rage to one of calculation. His golden eyes flick back and forth between you and the speaker before a grin begins to curl along his lips. Crocodile takes the cigar from his mouth and stubs it out, and you feel your stomach drop. This wasn't good.

You let out a startled yelp when the man suddenly snatches his ringed hand out and catches your wrist. He pulls you into his lap and wraps his other arm around your waist, keeping you there easily. 

"How about we ask her?" The warlord rumbles and sat the receiver down. His hook slipped under your chin, forcing you to gaze up at Crocodile. "Tell us, who would you prefer to stay with, Darling?" He cooed to you, grin matching his namesake. 

You blush from the roots of your hair to the tips of your toes. This was not how you'd imagined your evening to be going. Sure, both men have been open about their attraction to you, but neither has done anything about it. Until now, apparently. 

"I uh. I don't think I should be choosing like this." You say and squirm in Crocodile's lap. You should get off. This isn't appropriate, but the big man just pulls you closer to his chest and tightens his arm. "I'm not worth the two of you arguing anyway." 

You are close enough to the den den mushi to see its facial expression, and it doesn't look happy. The arm around your waist clinches hard enough to make you gasp, eyes going wide, and you tense when Doflamingo speaks. 

"Don't say things like that, Angel." He says, and you shiver at the dark tone of voice. To your surprise, Crocodile agrees with the bird. 

"You are one of the few things Birdbrain and I agree on. Do not speak ill of yourself. You are more than deserving of both of our attention." Crocodile rasps, and you can tell it is an order and not a suggestion. 

"Y-yes, Sirs." You say loud enough that Doflamingo can hear. Your face is bright red, and you fight not to squirm anymore in Crocodile's lap. 

"Fu fu fu." Doflamingo laughs over the speaker and you can hear him adjust. When he speaks next, his voice is much closer to the speaker, and you can hear the heat and lust that drips from his tone. "Good girl. But maybe she should be warned of her punishment if she doesn't listen to us again, eh, Crocoman." 

Crocodile laughs and brings up his hand to thread through your hair, tilting your head back again so he can peer into your glossy eyes. 

"Kuhaha ha ha. I think you are onto something, 'Mingo." He rumbles. You gasp when his hook snags your shirt. It tears like butter, sending buttons flying and the remains falling from your shoulders. The sharp point catches your bra as well, sending it flying and leaving your breasts bare to the cool air of Crocodile's office. "Let's give our assistant a preview." 

You burn in embarrassment, cheeks flaming and you raise your arms to cover your breasts. You don't know what is going on, why the men suddenly decided today would be the day they would have you. Even if one of them was thousands of miles away. 

"How does she look, Crocodile?" Doflamingo demands. Gods. His voice had dropped to a husky whisper full of sin and it sent shivers up and down your spine. 

"Delightful." Crocodile says and you flinch when he suddenly pushes your arms down and away to expose you again. Crocodile eyes you like a man starved and you find yourself folding into yourself. You've never received such attention from men like Crocodile or Doflamingo before. It makes you nervous. 

"You should see her, 'Mingo." Crocodile continues and without prompt reaches out and pinches your right nipple, causing a sequel to leave your lips. "Perfect tits, flushed and beautiful." He applies just enough pressure to have you gritting your teeth, heat pooling in your gut and your eyes clinching shut. You couldn't watch this. 

You hear your other boss groan over the den den mushi, "Do that again. I want to hear our little assistant come undone." He hisses slowly. 

Crocodile does so, thick fingers pinching your nipple harshly and enjoying the way you hiss at the motion. He massages the sensitive bud and pulls you closer so that he can place soft kisses on the side of your neck. You can't help the moan that escapes you, skin shivering and hips jerking in the warlord's hold. "St-stop," you whine, hands coming up to curl around Crocodile's wrist in a poor attempt to stop the man. 

The men laugh at your pitiful sounds and Crocodile redoubled his efforts by moving on to your other nipple. You keen when he suddenly bites down, eyes flying open to watch the dark-haired man palm your breast. Tears come to your eyes when he pulls away to kiss his bite mark and you can feel his smug grin against your neck. 

"Does that feel good, Angel? Having that big hand touch you? Doflamingo purrs over the den den mushi. In his palace on Dressrosa, he sits at his own rarely used desk, pants unbuttoned and cock already hard and leaking. He'd been thinking about you all day and could picture you half naked in his Croco's grip. 

You blush even more at his words and bite your lip. It feels fantastic, but you weren't about to admit that. Especially not to two men who have such big egos already. Instead, you shake your head no. 

"Kuhaha ha ha." Crocodile grins down at you and shakes his head as if he is disappointed. "Now, now. Don't be like that, Pet. Use your words, tell us how you feel." He crooned and niped your ear. 

You shake your head again. "N-no! I don't want this. Any of this!" You deny hotly though your body easily betrays you whenever Crocodile lays his hands on your delicate skin. You ache for these men, thighs shaking and core begging to be filled. 

"Fu fu fu. Hear that? I think she is lying to us." The Bird accuses and you feel your blood run cold at the dark tone of his voice. That was never a good thing to hear with Doflamingo. 

"I'm not lying, Doffy." You whine lowly and know that you've only dug your grave further when both of them laugh at you again. Clearly, neither of them believe you, and you can't blame them. 

Suddenly, you are shifted back and in a swift movement, Crocodile tucks his thighs between your own and shoves your legs open. Your skirt rucks up against your waist, exposing your underwear. You are completely vulnerable in this position and it makes fear and excitement mix inside you. 

"Mhm. I think she is 'Mingo." Crocodile rasps and his hand finds your clothed sex. He swipes over the black fabric and your yelp, bucking your hips at the unexpected gesture. You hear your boss inhale deeply and feel his grin. "She wouldn't smell this good, otherwise." 

"Crocodile!" You hiss, embarrassed beyond belief that the man would say such a vulgar thing. You grunt when his hook slips under the band of your underwear and the elastic slips, snapping back against your sensitive skin. 

"My name next, Angel." Doflamingo crooned and you flush hotly. Everything feels overwhelming and over sensitive. It makes tears come to your ears and you suddenly wish that the other man wasn't thousands of miles away. 

Crocodile snakes a hand down your front, rough fingers sending shivers down your back. He finds your clothed sex and strokes the fabric, grinning when he notices the damp spot. He presses down and rubs, humming and bucking his own hips up when you gasp at the sudden pleasure. "Come on, Pet." He says and swipes his fingers again, the friction almost too much against your clothed clit. "Say his name, and I'll give you everything you want." 

His thumb presses hard against your clit, turning in a slow, maddening half-circle that has you bowing forward and crying out. Your eyes open again and you watch the hand between your legs with intensity. Crocodile does it again and your mouth drops open in a keen, hips bucking and seeking that wonderful pleasure. 

"Say it." Crocodile demands of you and his deep, commanding voice finally has you surrendering. 

"Doffy!" You cry, eyes clinching shut as you sag back against Crocodile. His pace increases, rubbing your swelling clit harshly as you wiggle in his lap. The sight is lovely and he presses up into you, enjoying the way you rub yourself against his clothed cock. 

"Oh, Angel." Doflamingo praises over the receiver and you flush crimson at the reminder of your actions. What have you done? "Say it again for me. Crocodile, reward her for being a good girl." 

"Kuah ha ha." Crocodile's deep chuckle has your thigh twitching. He glances down, golden eyes watching you intently. His hook finds the elastic of your panties and he watches as shock flies over your face when he rips them from your body. Your mouth drops open in a gasp and you scramble to cover yourself from his gaze. However, his hand dives back between your legs before you can shut them, and easily pries your thighs open. 

"St-stop! I can't!" You cry out and the men just laugh at you again. Crocodile keeps your thighs spread with his hook and uses his free hand to grab your jaw. He tilts your head back and up, angling so that he can peer into your eyes. 

"Stop lying to us." He snarles and his eyes narrow into angry slits. Fear floods you, but your arousal skyrockets at the same time, leaving you in a muddled, confused mess in the pirates' hold. "You will take everything we give you." 

With those words, Crocodile jerks your legs open, exposing your core to the cool air of the office and shoves one thick finger into your leaking cunt. You hiss at the sudden stretch, eyes flying open to watch him pump his finger in and out of you, ear burning at the loud squelching sound that echoes in the office. 

Just as you felt like you were about to tip over the edge, Crocodile took his hand away and brought it up to his face. He examined your slick in the low light before sticking his finger into his mouth and licking it clean with a happy groan. "Wait until you can taste her, 'Mingo. Just like honey." The devil fruit user rumbled in delight. 

You whimper and whine, sounding more like a bitch in heat than a human sitting on her boss's lap. You glance down to see that your thighs are red and scratched, mostly likely from the golden hook that still sits between your legs. 

"Does it hurt, Angel?" Doflamingo croons over the speaker and you pick up the sound of skin on skin contact. The blonde was stroking himself to the sound of Crocodile playing with you, and the image that popped up in your mind had you groaning in delight. You found yourself nodding furiously, head thrown back to rest against Crocodile's chest. 

"D-Doffy, Crocodile, please!" You keen and gasp when the dark-haired man picks up his pace. His thumb meets your clit again and the warlord smiles at how wet you are just from what little attention he has given you. 

"That's it, Pet." He praises and watches in rapt attention when you shut your eyes and buck into his hand. 

Thousands of miles away, Doflamingo can picture his two lovers in his mind, the way Crocodile has you in his lap and all splayed out, ready to be devoured. He'd give anything to be able to kneel between your legs right now and drink straight from your source. 

"Give her another, Crocodile. I know she can take them." Doflamingo orders over the den den mushi. Crocodile doesn't disappoint and you gasp when another thick digit is added to your tight heat. Tears spring up at the stretch and your hips stutter as you come close again. You sob when that feeling falls away, leaving you pent up and wanting more. 

Doflamingo hears your groan and he picks up his pace, long fingered hand flying up and down his cock as he thinks about you. He whines, wrist twisting at teasing the head of his cock as he pictures you and Crocodile. 

Crocodile huff, golden eyes rolling as he listened to Doflamingo stroke his cock over the phone. The blonde is insatiable. However, he wasn't Crocodile's priority right now. You were, and he needed to give you a reminder that you belonged to them. His dick ached in his own pants, but he ignored it for now. He pumps his fingers faster, enjoying the sounds that your slick cunt makes as you leak around his fingers. 

The blonde couldn't wait to be the one to pull those gorgeous sounds from you. He could hear the heavy breathing of his fellow warlord and they mixed wonderfully with your high-pitched whines. 

"Fu fu fu, That's it Crocodile," Doffy purred. His other hand snaked down to squeeze his heavy balls, pulling a gruttle moan from the blonde, "Make her scream. I want to hear everything." 

Without warning, Crocodile shifts and adds a third thick finger to your weeping hole. You do scream this time, the stretch a mix of pain and pleasure causing you to bow over. His thumb comes back to your clit, rubbing harshly, until finally, finally, Crocodile allows you to come. 

"Ah-ahh ah." You stutter out, eyes clenched shut and mouth dropping open as you are overwhelmed. Your hips grind into his hand between your legs. Your boss doesn't stop or pull away until your hips stop twitching. Crocodile pulls his fingers from your slick cunt and then slurps them into his mouth to clean them. He grunts at your taste. 

"Hear that 'Mingo?" Crocodile grunts and Doflamingo can see the shit eating grin even thousands of miles away. "I think we can both say she prefers to be with me." He gloated. You peek up at the man and see that he looks incredibly proud of himself. 

Doflamingo whines over the phone. He is so, so close! "C-come on, Croco." His hips stutter and he throws his head back. Over the phone, he picks up the sound of Crocodile finding their assistants wet heat again. The Bird hears you whine and cry, breath heaving for release, and he spills over his tight fist. 

"What good pets." Crocodile praises and Doflamingo bites his lip to keep from keening at the praise. Crocodile was proud of both of his lovers and it showed in the tone of his voice and the small smile on his face. 

You are exhausted. Your body and mind are nothing but putty. Crocodile easily lifts your body and wraps his fur coat around your body. You whine when the movement causes the apex of your thighs to ache and Doflamingo shushes you gently over the phone. 

"Let him take care of you, Angel." He murmurs, tone full of satisfaction, "I'll be there as soon as I can." Like hell would he wait to see you and Crocodile after this. 

Crocodile hums, holding his assistant turned lover close to his chest. He glances down and sees that you've already fallen asleep and a small smile graces his face. 

"Hurry up, 'Mingo." He rumbles, and his golden eyes slip closed, "We are waiting for you." 

[alonetogether]

okay top five favorite underrated robron scenes and go

this took me several days to think about lol you have no idea how much i love you rn for letting me info dump about them omfggg i dont know what counts as underrated really i feel like every single scene they have is so well-loved for one reason or another but, i'll happily list some underrated(?) details i noticed on my watchthrough

this will be in no particular order just from what i think of first. god. ok

though its a very very very well known and loved scene (WELL DESERVED) i just love how robert sways with aaron during the reunion scene, like he's trying to do a first dance 2.0 with him to adele all over again. and help jog aaron’s memory about the scene like. Well technically it’s just standing. and then of course they have a flirting banter back and forth EXACTLY like their first dance too. god. wedding parallels kill me always

when aaron goes away to ireland after the gordon stuff comes out but before gordon is charged, the background plot of robert working at the scrapyard for aaron to not only make his life a little easier once he comes back but also working his ass off to have the scrapyard earn MORE money so aaron can be a little more comfortable financially (and pay for legal fees) once he's back too. like. god. 2016 robron forever and ever and ever i would live there 24/7 if i could

the casino las vegas holiday scene where robert has his hands over aaron’s eyes and is leading him to the back room it’s just. sooooooo cute to me but also shows how much aaron trusts robert. and it just makes me happy to be reminded what kids they both are like i truly do believe they have eachother pieces of their childhood back after both of theirs were taken from them :,-) like they can be KIDS together. ugh

the fact that chas picks out the song “can’t take my eyes off you” just kinda confirms that even when robron aren’t on screen all they are doing is staring at and giving heart eyes to each other, so much so that everyone in the village notices that it’s like. constant. and honestly just gonna throw in the whole karaoke scene as a scene i love that’s underrated(? not really), i’m a sucker for karaoke. and it kinda calls back to them being kids with each other

the "you are such a wind-up" scene lives rent free in my head its just sooooo them its SOOOO them, and really shows how much they know each other like aaron is literally saying nothing and robert STILL knows he's trying to rile him up likeee. i think theres a common trend with my fave details/scenes of them both and it's when they allow themselves to be silly / be kids like i cannot state this enough sorry. it just hits sooo good that they not only supported each other through revealing their childhood traumas to the other (robert supporting aaron getting gordon locked up / aaron supporting robert by steering any and all conversation away from jack) like... they can give each other a little piece of childhood glee back like its just so special to meeee

i'd love to know yours if you'd like to list some :-)

[loquarocoeur]

currently smiling like an idiot at my laptop screen because the way you write makes me insane & I just!! 😭 I love them and I love LOVE and I love ur writing and UGH

I don't even know what to say, that chapter was just utterly perfect, the perfect ending, the perfect vibe, the perfect ambience, the perfect everything 🥺

I just love the way they talk to each other, the constant bickering and back and forth and their softness and chatter and as much as I love max being unable to do anything but whine like the little bottom bitch he is I loved him being coherent and him talking with Charles & helping Charles feel good and oughghuoughghgu

(the 'no u come' 'no U COME' argument was perfect, actual gold)

shoutout to nipple orgasm anon bc that champagne bottle to the nipples was so hot thank you for giving Alex those particular brain worms

it was just so beautiful and precious and sexy and !!!!!!

 “I’d be so happy for you I’d embarrass myself more than I ever have in my life.” godgodGOD 😭 shut the fuck up right now. like right the fuck now. I somehow had never considered how it'd be in the yours verse when Charles eventually gets the wdc and holy fuck I somehow am even mORE desperate for it if that's even possible. ferrari girl. you. better. work. bitch.

(also im ngl whenever u write charles losing his mind and uncontrollably grinding into the mattress. I also lose my mind and die. because fuck me its hot I can't take it acktually. u are responsible for my murder. something about it specifically just gets me. just like fuck one day when Charles is being a mopey bitch because maybe max has been gone for a while (lbr 2 days) and calls max to be whiny and soppy and 'maaaax I love you cheri. baby. honey. darling. please come home' and ofc it eventually becomes phone sex and maybe Charles was already laying on the bed or something and he imagines all of max's noises are happening right above him like normal. maybe he puts the phone speaker on the pillows and he slides down the mattress a bit. he forgets he can just touch himself normally and he isn't responsible for touching max to get him off for once and so he just absentmindedly just starts rocking and grinding and moaning into the duvet while he's instructing max on what to do and talking him through it and he doesn't really become totally cognisant of it until max has come first and then he goes Oh. because he's just so used to focusing on max first and just didn't even consider properly touching himself.)

thank you as ever for your brain ♥️ 🦢

~ swanon

(who maybe also has been feeling silly amounts of happy the whole day that your response to my returning ask was so cute and made me go :) smth smth I love u all and knowing u all like my asks and general presence makes me want to sob w joy every time💕💕💕)

Asdfghjkl thank you yes you get them they're so in love!! ANd Ferrari better work, I agree

Also yes??! You are so right?! I love your brain I've been meaning to write phone sex again forever

Swanon, you are one of this blog's crown jewels, we love you so much, please never die❤️

[disventure-rewrite-takes]

yesterday was a very rough day for me. I was very anxious which caused me a lot of stomach pain and headache. Kept walking back and forth hoping and praying that when the episodes drop I won't see what I ended up seeing. I could barely sleep the night before it either. Then I saw the google drive link for the episode on twitter, downloaded it and skipped straight to the end just to see who goes home, hoping that all that constant pain and fighting wasn't for nothing. Turns out they were all for nothing. I made a comment about it on reddit then I just cried my eyes out. All for nothing, yet another lose and proof that I have no luck, that nothing in my life ever wants to work out the way I want. I cried and my chest hurt so much that I passed out and my mom had to take me to the hospital. I am fine and can think and talk properly now, however i have no desire for anything anymore. Absolutely nothing. And whenever I think about what happened I just feel bad. I was able to watch season 3 episode 21 in full a few hours ago and was completely let down by how they wrote him. It was so awful. I was able to stomach how he went home last season but here? This ain't it. I haven't felt this bad watching a disventure camp episode in my life and I have 0 desire to continue watching it, and as someone who constantly defended the show this really hurts more than it should. I feel like I got stabbed. Jake haters won, I lost. Congrats to everyone who wanted him to go early, you won, he's not gonna compete ever again. I bet all of them are celebrating right now, good for them.

So this leads me to my goodbye. Everyone i know told me to leave everything about this show behind for my own well beng. And that's what I'm going to do. Thank you to everyone who liked me, and to those who didn't, I am sorry. I had some fun times here and I'm happy I was able to make some people laugh either with my pants jokes, my fanarts or with my love for Jake, which yes, is genuine, I do genuinely have a crush on him even if he's not real, even if he's a piece of shit, he's my piece of shit. i'm gonna keep this account up for a few more hours then I will delete it for good unless the mods will be faster than me and delete this thread before it for being too off topic. No more coming back unless maybe some miracle happens and I find out that either him or another character I really love will compete in another season. But i'm not gonna be that lucky because this whole thing proved that I never will be, no matter how much I beg for it. Why remain here when I'm not interested in any of the future episodes and the show will likely end for good after it, if not forever then definitely for a couple of years. No point in staying here. Goodbye and as Jake once said, It's giving./c

its giving 😞✊🏼

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary471

1/9-10/24

thursday - friday

okay...

i have been up for over 24 hours just to make sure my sleep goes back to normal because i was out so late with my friends. which is good and stuff but i also hate how it messes with my sleep, and this means tomorrow when my gf goes to the dentist tomorrow, i will go with her mom to the grocery store to get things we need. this is good. i didn't read at all today i was kind of like, lost basically, i cleaned up and things as usual, i didn't draw, but out of nowhere i did a lot with music, i made 2 new guitar sounds i really like... that makes me super happy, i fixed one too, and now things don't feel so stressful with music. it turns out that the bass cab simulators in the th-u overloud thing, 2 of them have an option to bring in a lot of high end/tweeter range, which is crazy, i was looking for something that did that specifically!! now i have the high end i always look for in a more natural way!!!! this is such a relief with the stuff i want to do, it makes my life so much easier...

oh, here's me from yesterday:

i know this is a bunch of #spam but i don't know when i'm going to be dressed up again. maybe tomorrow apparently we're going to hotpot but idk... i don't need to. i should dress casually for that, especially since there will be grocery shopping.

re: the music today there's like 4 new songs / ideas. 1 is basically fully fleshed out, drums and everything, it has 2 basses going at the same time, i was listening to black eyes, and i wanted to try and get something like the bass sound they get.

i've talked about it before, but i love this song so much, and basically nothing else on the record gets close... frustrating!! it's a constant inspiration though, that frustration. it's insane how perfect this song is.

today was big for music, i listened to a couple albums i really loved, i listened to the new holy grinder, which was great fucked up noisecore grind stuff:

and then there was a record by this band infant, the record's called giant leg, that one felt revelatory, super creative with how they do the guitars and synths and everything... it's so colorful and freakish, rainbow-puke type stuff:

i like the three vocalists across this record. this is goofy of me, but when bands from the uk do this type of stuff, i'm apprehensive, i think mostly because all the whitebelt/faggy stuff i know / its history tends to be in america, i guess i'm like, it won't be as good, idk. there's some stuff, like this band punish the atom, they sort of veer that direction but don't go all the way. these 3 go insane on it, though. take this song for instance too:

the guy here sounds demented!! i also really love the freaky ring mod bitcrushed guitar, and how all these songs have synth bass instead of bass guitar, the key parts are so cool, make me think of some bands like post office gals and stuff, even the locust a bit in places, especially when they're doing freaky stuff to the filters and seeming to get things to self oscillate in wonky ways. interesting how unknown this record seems to be, it's like crack for people like me, and there's at least... 10 of us... the bits where they use drum machine kicks too, it's so crazy, what's the best way to describe the effect, a website where all the unicode's spitting out nonsense text, an improperly installed language pack, bit-rotted images, a heart attack at the carnival, bleeding on a cactus, the red and green together and the orange sands, a kind of hideous smear of color, the pink skin, the sky a massive canopy for a constant circus. laughter an emanation of the impossibility of thinking the present, stuff kind of jumping forth from the past, to the future, so overwhelming it expresses how the immediate has always passed away before it could be captured, everything swimming away or towards you. shimmering under the flash of a camera and iridescence in unlikely places.

helpful to say things like that, when trying to reflect on the little blanchot introduction i'd been reading yesterday... though failed to read today because i am stupid!!!

but other stuff in music today, i was looking at this band i like on discogs, dmonstrations, to see if there's anything else by them i missed out on, and i got to looking at the guitarist/vocalist of the band's page since he also did all the cover art, and i think the cover art and layout stuff is super special for that band:

so i find out he's from japan, has since moved back, started another band, dmonstrations were originally based in san diego, which is a classique white belt spawning zone, and the other band, 2up, is really good too, his guitar playing is really cool to me, he moves between really interesting phrases, stuff that's straightforwardly punk-y, and then more no-wave-y dissonant freakout stuff, always figuring out how to turn these things into riffs, the communicative/grammatical process in the way he plays/writes songs, idk, it's very fascinating.

there's gestures here that feel really hardcore-y, in how he plays, like at around 20 seconds here, but then the slide stuff he does, weird chords, and then the tone of the guitar, so shambolic and freaky, you're able to hear the strings and the texture of the strings really well i think. i also really like that it's a duo with just guitar and drums, recalls pink and brown to me, another band like this, where the guitar was free to play around with all kinds of movements, a kind of semantic rot.

oh, here's a video of dmonstrations i found, to show my friend, i like that the bassist is wearing what looks like a head wound city shirt, and an aside, but what was the deal with fox rox, whose idea was that, what a stupid and strange thing, was that broadcasted to the people who watch fox news or was it a local deal??? how bizarre, i remember seeing a video of the locust on there and then this really awkward interview they did where the guy asks them about punk rock elvis or something and them i think puking on him? or pissing? something like that, anyhow:

anyhow this brings me back to the main guy here, tetsunori tawaraya, on his site, i found a bunch of posters he made for shows, which is crazy how good he's been at archiving all that, here's some i really liked, super duper interesting kind of art, it sort of links up with how i was describing that album giant leg, as well, a kind of artistic expression of that meeting of the limit, occupying the gulf where there is only intensity and excess of shadow, where sensations of what has passed/ what you know not now but have the feeling you will have known (returning to a quote of blanchot (something about knowing's impossibility, the feeling that you will have known, because of the eternal return, the appearance of difference, a difference one can sense, the difficulty of articulation, i think it gets at, and then there it gets at the necessity of writing and its difference/insubordination to speech)), anyway, these kinds of violent visions that, or the way they feel, their kind of silly nature speaking more to me the carnival of kristeva over anything purely cartoonish:

here is his site with a lot of other stuff to look at as well:

he has a lot of his art up, it's really really lovely to see, he seems like a really fascinating guy, i also love how 2up seems to have kept going for a long time in a rather stable way, though i haven't seen anything of them since 2022, which is sad. but maybe long term projects like that are, rather than things that end, something that are so routine you end up feeling like you can take a break from them? and at that level of familiarity, it makes sense, to take breaks.

and here's something else i listened to today:

some fun screamy nintendocore. i really like how the snare sounds here, sometimes snares + kicks sound not so good in nintendocore but this guy really gets those sounds right, plus he has a fun scream, a little more in the mark mccoy vein.

i think maybe there were other things i wanted to say but i'm too tired, it's 11:30, this is a long time to have been awake. i hardly feel bad though, maybe it'll hit me tomorrow. maybe i wanted to talk about some dolls i saw on flickr the other day... i'll post them tomorrow... maybe i'll do some posts on the tl for them too... idk. i should also read and stuff after hotpot. it'll be my first time with hot pot, i'm excited. i mostly want vegetables... and spicy.

now i really am sleepy, if i stayed up 30 more minutes this entry would touch 3 days of my life... wouldn't that be disturbing.

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[indigosuvi]

Unholy

age in bio when interacting. minors do not interact.

Word Count: 1,048 | Read it on AO3 | Tag List

Shinju had surprisingly never been in a relationship before. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t bad at it. He’d take you out on beautiful dates, and he was very kind and caring. He would also give you gifts and never forget any important dates. He also remembered everything you told him about yourself, from anything as simple as your favorite color to something you said that you liked in passing but you didn’t have the money to afford at the time. He didn’t forget, and he tried the best that he could to make things perfect for you. You were happy with him, and you tried telling him he didn’t have to spend all his money. He did pretty well saving; despite his constant spending, he knew what it was like to be poor and wasn’t going to go through that again. Things were good between the two of you. There wasn’t usually a time where there was an argument. You both often talked things out before they got worse. You were both good at communicating your feelings. It had been many months into your relationship. You wanted to take things further, but you didn’t know how to tell him. You never had an issue talking to him before. You were nervous, and so was he. He felt the same as you did and was afraid of what you might say. You guys had never gone this far in your relationship before.

You sat on the couch next to him, reading a book while he scrolled through things on his phone.  Both of you were content in your own little world. You looked over at him, your eyes slowly trailing his body. Looking over at him, you couldn’t help but let out a little smile as you watched him. His eyes seemed to be glued to his phone. You thought he was oblivious to your watchful eyes. He looked at you from the corner of his eyes. His orange eyes glowing as he looked at you. You didn’t stop staring, and he turned his full attention on you.

“Can I help you?” He asked as he looked at you with a slightly confused glance.

“Sorry, I was just admiring you...” You said trailing off as you looked away.

He turned and looked at whatever had suddenly caught your attention. He saw nothing and looked back at you. You stayed looking away, and he noticed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said quietly as you went back to reading.

He looked away and looked back at you. He didn’t mean to upset you. He wasn’t sure what he had done or what to do.

“Are you sure that you’re okay?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. You were fine—perfectly fine. You hadn’t expected to be caught admiring him. You didn’t want to say the thoughts that you had in your head. It didn’t help that Sinju had leaned closer, listening to anything that you might say quietly. He was genuinely worried for you, and if you looked over at him, you would have seen the worry that he had on his face.

“I was just thinking about how it would be nice to have you inside me.” You stated quietly, as you felt your face heat up.

He blinked. He had heard you clearly. He blinked again as he sat back in his seat. He didn’t know what to say or do. The silence was deafening. It was only for a moment, but it felt much longer than that.

“Do you really want to?” He asked as he looked at you.

You looked at him when you replied. “Yes.”

He smiled as he gently grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap. Your eyes met his, and he wrapped his arms around you. You leaned in, closed your eyes, and your lips met his. He kissed you back, and his hand slowly slid up your shirt. Your hand found its way into his hair. You continued to kiss him. Your hips slowly began to move back and forth. He gave your lip a gentle bite and kissed you once more. Your hips continued moving against him. His hand found its way to your chest, while his other hand held onto your hip. You separated away from him as you slid yourself back and forth. You wanted to see his face. You could feel his hardened cock beneath him. His cheeks were a light pink hue as you looked at him. His orange eyes slowly trail down your body. Your hands found their way to the hem of your shirt. You grabbed your shirt and slowly pulled it off your body, teasing him. His eyes began to wander, and you gently grabbed his chin and had him look at your face. He blushed brighter and closed his eyes; he couldn’t look away with your hand holding onto him. He opened his eyes, and your hand slid down his chest. He took his shirt off, and his hand found its way back to your hip and chest as you continued grinding against him. His hands shakily grabbed a hold of your hips.

“Let me inside of you, please.” He said quietly as he looked at you.

“Go ahead.” You said with a smile.

He moved so that you were lying on the couch. He removed the remainder of your clothes, as well as his. His fingers worked to stroke/rub you. You let out a moan as his fingers began to work harder and faster. His other hand worked to stroke himself. He bit his lip to prevent himself from moaning. He brought you both to cum, and then he slid himself inside of you, letting out a moan as he did. His hands rested on your hips as he waited for confirmation before he began to move his hips back and forth. He didn’t want to hurt you, and he took his time, slowly moving his hips back and forth, before you told him to increase speed. He began to move harder and faster. Your hips moved along with him, causing you to moan. He continued to thrust back and forth. His moans were quiet as he did, and the blush still remained on his face.

© SUVIDRACHE — do not copy, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work. reblogs are appreciated!

Tag List: @eli-chris

[anhourofsleep]

Favorite Umbrella

I didn’t expect the rain.

All day, the sun was shining its blistering rays. When I left the house, I could feel the heat prickling on my skin, determined to persuade me to just stay inside.

It was Sunday. I can’t stay inside.

So when I went home at 9 PM, grateful for the ride home from my friends, the sudden, strong downpour was not something I wished for. Obviously, this will make it harder for me to go home. But I didn’t want this because I know, deep in the crevices of my short-circuiting brain that I did not bring an umbrella.

The rain was sudden. And it was strong. When it was at the crescendo of its power, I panicked. The sidewalk was clean of waiting sheds (screw poor urban planning, amirite?). I kept moving forward, hoping to find something. Anything, at this point. Because I knew if I don’t, I’ll get soaked and I’ll be miserable.

Shortly after I bet my whole life on just moving ahead and hoping for the best, I found myself in front of a car dealership, with a single, pop-up canopy still up. I hurried along and got under it just in time for the rain to drop like a hot new BINI single (I am not good with analogies).

Fall like rain indeed. With me safe under this tent, I watched as the rain became torrent, generously sharing its water as if everyone in this part of the city has had none for the past few years. It looked like it wasn’t stopping any time soon. I accepted that this was going to take a while, so I paced back and forth under the shade, getting weary as each second went by.

So I just decided to pray. Might as well do something. My bluetooth headphones are dead and I can’t lay down to nap (obviously).

I started reflecting on what’s been happening so far. I feel like I’m at a major fork in the road. I have gone through some, but this feels different. This feels like the moment. Like in the movies where the hero has to choose; the world or his loved one? Do or die, my good sir.

At this fork, my battle within myself rages on. The choice to be happy is hard when melancholy is so comfortable. They say change is the only constant thing in the world. And I’m constantly ignoring its calls.

I’m used to doing things on my own. I don’t care how anyone does it. And it worked for me. Right...?

“Nope. It did not.” I said out loud.

It’s fine. There are no people around and if there were, the rain would be loud enough to mask my voice.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It did not work out for me. I am a mess. I am broken. When I feel like everyone around me is having the time of their life, I am in my own world where the only one speaking is that gloomy blue star in the Mario Movie, going “Everything’s over now and all that’s left is you in an infinite void” over and over again.

And it all happened in an instant. It’s like this sudden downpour, where I am left to just move forward, regardless if I find shelter or not.

I looked for it in a lot of things. Most of it is in the company of people who want me to drink my troubles away. That worked for them, they said. But it’ll be like if I try and ask someone to walk with me in this rain and both of us have no raincoats or umbrellas. I’ll be glad of the company, but we’re both soaked, right?

For a time, I was content in doing this. It’s the familiar. It’s something that made me comfortable because it was my constant. I don’t want to look for a new life. This is it for me. Why should I strive for something better? But I felt it. I felt it in my heart that I have to move forward. Even if I can’t see how I’m going to be okay.

When I was slipping over and over again that made me look like I was just lying down, God held out His hand through the people in this community. When I accepted that this is the peak for me, He told me no and sent out people to help me up.

He doesn’t want me down there. He wants me up because I have a job to finish.

However, He also knows I can’t brave the storm yet. So He guided me to a canopy where I should just sit back and revel in the isolation because He knows I’ll get to know Him more here. He removed me from the world because I’ve been trying too hard to go through it on my own. He provided me shade because He knows that I have yet to acquire my umbrella.

Through the raging torrent, I found shelter. A shelter that I can stay in to wait out the storm and with people who are waiting with me. People isolated from the cruelty of the world, finding solace in God’s protection.

When the rain stops, I’ll be more careful to bring my umbrella next time. If the storm comes again, I’ll use it and maybe help out someone who got caught in the rain and lead them to their canopy. The same way that the people in mine did for me.

For now, let the storm prove its point. I will be waiting here, safe in the shade.

Isaiah 4:5-6

[ohhcalamxty]

hello. its been a while? 5 years actually. what a place this is! what a trip down memory lane of many emotions.

a quick tldr: im 25 now, im engaged and live with my amazing partner and 2 cats. i am ed free (for the most part - i still struggle to love my body sometimes), clean, and i am in therapy! a place i never would have thought id be.

i didnt think id come back here like. ever. but ive been having nightmares of sam recently. its odd isnt it, how the brain works? i havent seen sam in 7 years? since the 2nd june 2018 to be exact, and yet he haunts me. why?

this is an odd correlation but recently i got into taylor swift. her music has been wonderfully cathartic and whilst i never assumed id be one of those girls who screams breakup songs and curses them at my exes....here we are.

TTPD (and most of taylors sad songs) unhealed me, so to speak, or at least awoke something in me. i wouldn't ever proclaim i have had bad relationships. i am always grateful for the time myself and owen spent together, and i am extremely happy with josh (I'd say 2/4 of my relationships being good is pretty huge) but here I am screaming and crying over break up songs at the eras tour and tearing up in the shower because they resonate with a point in my life and put my feelings into words in a way I've never been able to do.

elliot was interesting but i try not to curse his name so much as we were 14 and maybe he didn't mean what he did because he didn't understand consent, or maybe i am naive and too nice - i guess we'll never know because he quite literally dropped off the face of the earth! (Also, minor shoutout for him delaying dumping me because my grandma died! i do appreciate that at least!)

sam however....oh where do I begin with sam!

"Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?"

I think I spent a lot of my teen years reflecting on sam, because well, he fucked me up so much. i mean how emotionally spent must I be to have nightmares of someone who I spent less than 12 months with at the age of 16, and then collided with again for a single night at the age of 19. Clearly we're fucked here.

I cannot find the words to describe you, and I'm unsure what i did to deserve a love like this. You had a girlfriend that you loved and were with for years, and then I (your close friend at the time) got dumped, and you make your move. We hang out a lot, cool, fine, nothing new as we were friends anyway. My mind is hazy on how it started or when we went from friends to whatever we were but it haunts me so much lmao.

The constant talks of i was the one, and that yes I will leave her for you. I fear nobody ever talks about being the other woman because its so odd - it isnt a flex, it isnt cool or sexy. it fucking sucks and it fucked me up but i liked sam so much i believed it. I mean picture this: you're 16, just lost your grandma, heavily depressed, self harming, riddled with an ed and have been dumped but low and behold your best friend tells you he loves you and plays with your hair and holds you. we go on dates and have sleepovers with friends (he still had a gf btw) hes fucked up too but he worries and cares about you more than anyone else, but at the cost of if you try to pull away he hurts himself, and threatens suicide (and believe me he'd do it) - stuck between a rock and a hard place aye.

"And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts - Memories feel like weapons"

Less than a year of back and forth, misery and stringing along. I can't remember how or why it ended but I know it took a lot of attempts of pulling away (and him pulling me back) to get away. A lot of bits are hazy but I can assume it must have been around the time when I met owen? There are old screenshots on here of sam talking to me and they make me feel unwell (not an exaggeration) - his words (even after it all ended) and how he tried to act like he cared makes me feel like a pit inside (even now). I do however find it funny that my posts from 2015 and 2016 about him claiming hes ruined my life don't seem that dramatic now that im 25 and having nightmares about him.

"Oh, God rest my soul, I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close, stained glass windows in my mind - I regret you all the time"

I think I would have been ok if this was it. I don't think I would be grieving my past self, my girlhood, my naivety if this was all - i very much had support through my other relationships to help the sam trauma which i do appreciate. But it doesnt end here does it? Nah thats too easy.

"Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden"

2nd June 2018: Me and Josh had briefly split up. It was Karlies birthday and we went out in HTC (dire) and I guess because Hinckley is a tiny place and everyone goes to the same places we ran into a lot of people (some good some bad) - including Sam.

Ima be honest idk where he came from or who he was out with but there he was, buying me drinks, talking to me, I dont remember much but I can assume I was happy. I do however remember him leading me away, telling me we're heading to the next bar because that's where everyone else was going but we actually were heading in the complete opposite direction haha. god knows where we were going but on the walk we sat on a bench, i cried, i told him off, told him he ruined my life, he told me he'd missed me so much, he held me, i cried more, i hated him and then we just rinsed and repeated as he pootled me up castle street to wherever he was taking me. My friend rang me, I told them I was with sam, people came running (guess they all know hes bad news) and they (including josh, who was my ex at the time and ig technically hated me) beefed him until he left and that was that. I haven't seen him since - i still dont know where he was taking me or what his plan was. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I didnt answer the phone, sometimes I wish I hadn't and that maybe I deserved whatever would happen. Maybe I'm blowing it out of proportion, being dramatic, but the trauma of the emotions that 16 year old me feels is still there. It haunts me.

"Don't call me "kid", Don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me"

So here we are. I guess I'm bringing this up at therapy in a few weeks because these feelings won't disappear (and Honestly I'm not sure why they reappeared other than being repressed emotions). I wonder though, has this affected you as much as it as me? Do you feel bad about what you did? Are you suffering? Do you think about me? Do you feel bad that you had such control over me or did you enjoy it? Claiming you've lost sleep over me and that you want to protect and help me? Was any of it true I wonder.

"And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue? Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?"

I suppose I'll never know, but I can only hope that memories of me haunt you as much as they haunt me. I hope you get everything you deserve, and I hope I can heal. My skin is no longer the skin you touched, I no longer physically feel you, and I hope one day my memories of you will be hazy and faded, and I don't need to jump at ghosts anymore.

And my therapist wonders why I really dislike men huh.

[girlwaitingforvienna]

I feel like the worst version of myself at the moment.

I'm 23,

Married,

I have a 18 month old son who I love more than anything,

But I'm still not fulfilled completely,

Still not "happy",

Not content.

Money isn't supposed to be everything & yet- it involves literally almost everything you want to do,

You are supposed to be confident but not too confident that you let your own ego swallow up your soul and turn you against yourself with pure vanity,

You are supposed to keep learning new things, keep climbing up the ladder with a career and a job and a house and your own creative endeavors all at the same time-

But you look down and only realize that you have 2 hands,

Oh how satisfying would it be to have an abundant amount of hands so you can do as many things you want to do all at once without the worry of working with only the 2 that you have.

I feel like I have this big heavy hole living inside of my chest- a swarming sea of complete blackness and negativity and self-sabatage and depression,

And it has tenticals- trying to pull whatever is lying nearby into the hole of darkness that sinks deeper inside of me, it wants more victims to feed on- because it almost has a sense that my will is becoming too weak for its liking.

I try to patch up the hole when I need to-

Forcing it to only feed on me, but sometimes it still finds its way outside of myself, bringing other people down with me, and it's painful to watch.

I know myself one day,

Then I don't the next;

"Who are you?" I ask my reflection in the mirror.

I think to myself; I am a mom,

A wife,

A dog-lover,

A writer,

A dreamer-

Then I feel that all-too-fimilar pang run through the middle of my chest and I can see the blackness of the hole beginning to show itself right in front of me - extending its sinister tentacles my way, slowly wrapping itself around my throat-

Wanting more than anything to swallow me hole;

but I turn away and pretend it was never there to begin with.

I feel like a disappointment to everyone that I love.

"Why can't you just do the right thing?!" My consciousness screams loudly inside of my head.

"Why do you make things more complicated than they need to be?!" It continues.

"Why can't you just BE HAPPY?!" It relents.

My mind swarms with thoughts similar to these on an almost constant never-ending cycle, leaving me feeling helpless and dry and with hardly any motivation to do what's "right.".

What even is the right thing to do?

I believe I am a good person at heart, but I also admit I do partake in some stupid ignorant things that I know is wrong at times.

But why?

Why, why why?

It feels good for maybe a split second and then I am being tossed back and forth inside my own head about whether or not I am worthy of this life. Because someone who makes bad decisions and then still convinces themselves that they are a "good person" in their heads is not a person who will grow mentally in a good way.

I'm petrified of falling into the abyss of nothingness everyday-

The black hole that tries to consume me on a daily basis,

It's tiring,

I want the life I deserve and I want to be the best version of myself but how can I do that if I am still attempting to find that best version?

I feel like the best version of me is hiding inside a dark corner of my mind, scared to show herself in fear of the possibility of rejection from the outside world,

The possibility of getting used,

Getting run over by a tractor trailer that is called "life" after doing all that she could to make the best life for herself because she deserved it.

It's something that scares me night and day,

And I'm slowly working on getting over that fear before the black hole keeps trying to consume me; because that is a battle I want to win, but also a battle I'm not sure I can fight.

[shveris]

malibu

mysta was scared of the ocean but he was glad shu brought him to the beach.

tags: bubble tea shop au, strangers to lovers, my writing style drifts into the poetry area some times good luck deciphering that

chapter two: i

the way he jumped at the soft vibrations of his phone made mysta groan internally. since when was he so desperate?

shu: it was okay, today was busier than usual :(

mysta: damn prolly cuz of the fair

shu: ahh yea u might be right mr detective

mysta: 🕵🏻 !!

the brunette put his phone away to bury his face in his pillow. exchanging number with shu was the bravest thing he has done since asking that one girl in kindergarten for the black crayon, just to get scolded for making her cry. at least shu didn’t seem to mind texting him every now and then, even replying during his shifts and sending him pictures of drinks he made for himself.

it may have only been a week but mysta felt like shu has always been a part of his life; a constant, flowing with each other like waves (rocking back and forth in a steady and unchanging rhythm) and he felt so incredibly ridiculous for thinking about that innocent angel in that way. he didn’t even swear or curse, he’d notice, and it made his chest arch in a way he can’t seem to explain to himself even.

every word shu exchanged with him gave him a certain sense of nostalgia and comfort, his voice wrapping around him like a warm blanket during london’s grey winter and mysta felt like the world would finally be at peace with shu existing next to him.

his phone vibrated, startling him once again.

shu: wanna go to the fair tmrw? c:

mysta could hear the rushing of his own blood in his ears, forgetting to breathe for a second while hovering his thumbs above his keyboard. he was sure the train of thoughts he followed a split second ago, had just vanished into thin air, along side any other coherent words of the english language inside his brain.

mysta: yea!

mysta: dont u have work tho?

shu: o yea u can pick me up at 8:40

mysta: sounds goodd

everything inside his mind was racing; racing against the suddenly rapid beating of his heart; the realization of spending an evening with shu trying to kick in. does this count as a date?, he asked himself, trying to calm down.

he sat up in his bed, combing a hand through his ash brown hair. mysta felt like he was sinking into the pit of his darkest thoughts, low self-esteem nagging at every inch of his skin — sickness was setting at the pit of his stomach, adrenaline making him dizzy.

mysta knew he had to keep himself grounded, but not at the bottom of the ocean. long nails with chipped black paint leaving red lines on the skin of his throat and the soft burn of it reminded him of diving down too deep, the lack of air making him lightheaded in a way he’d never enjoy.

when mysta left the house the next evening, nina was nowhere to be seen (not that he would care because he didn’t) and the summer sun was still out and very much too bright for him — at least malibu was giving him good reasons to wear his sunglasses again because the uk surely didn’t — but he could handle it now.

the shop still had all its lights on, though the sign at the door said “closed” and shu, on the inside, was wiping down the tables while one of his co-workers stood at the sink. mysta wasn’t sure if he was allowed to enter so he softly knocked on the glass of the door. shu shot him a happy smile and a thumbs up before he turned around, speaking to his colleague.

two minutes passed before the ravenette came out of the store, a small bag strapped around his chest. they awkwardly looked at each other before mysta remembered “this might be a bloody date” and offered shu open arms, a shy invitation for a hug, and how could shu ever say no to a blushing mysta.

“how was your shift?”, the ashen asked after they parted, feeling awfully stiff — mysta will probably never get used to physical touch as he grew up without it, and strange things scared him, but the bad attempt at small talk could’ve also been a reason for the sudden amount of stress. to his relief, shu answered with a genuine smile and words, and it felt like a dream come true, that’s how deep mysta had his head in the ocean.

the walk to the fair was short, filled with a light breeze, warm words, lucid laughter. the bright and colored lights of the venue made shu look like a painting mysta could stare at for hours and he’d never get tired of it.

seagulls around were patiently waiting for opportunities to strike for food, screaming children and loud voices went blurry in a hunch the closer they got.

mysta would be lying if he’d say he liked those kinds of events — with a lot of people, colors, sounds, smells —, most of the time he avoided them for the sake of not getting sensory overloaded. but tonight, he could feel it, would be different. tonight he had shu with him, shu who took away all his attention, even on the ferris wheel when they could look over all of malibu; all the way to point dume while catching the silhouettes of the santa monica mountains, with the channel islands and santa barbara to the other side.

the various food stalls did a great job at making mysta a poor man, which was also partly his fault since he insisted on paying for everything (much to shu’s disagreeing (cute) pout). they had also found a takoyaki stand and after tasting their food, the ravenette had told mysta he could make better ones at home, which he took for a future invitation and, perhaps, a second date.

the sky above was dark and clear, mysta had asked to put his sunglasses into shu’s bag and he could only see a few stars above them, the lights of the city cancelling out magic he liked to watch when in the uk; the part of london he lived in was small and not as lively as malibu. over the years the brunette taught himself to love the loneliness those suns, constellations and galaxies would grace him with. the sky felt wide and open, he could see danger approaching, he could prepare himself to get lost — the ocean on the other hand was blurry, filled with pressure and everything humanity didn’t dare touch.

“frick.” the ravenette looked over his shoulder, someone had run into him and didn’t even apologize. mysta didn’t like how packed it was but chaos was a natural occurrence when it came to darkness, he should know and shu knew it better.

“c’mere”, mysta shuffled as close as he could to shu and grabbed his hand, he was so scared of losing shu in the crowd — it would mean getting a panic attack in the middle of a dozen people, strangers, people he didn’t know- oh god, why were there so many people? air, where was all the air all of the sudden? why did he even say yes to this? this was an awful idea, he should leave, immediately-

“let’s go over here”, shu swiftly intertwined their fingers, dragging the ashen through the stream of chatter to a more open area with activity booths and arcade machines. his brows were furrowed when he looked at mysta’s face in the dim light the lanterns and decorations offered: “deep breaths, deep breaths.” shu’s free hand made up and down movements with every breath he took, hoping the visualization would help mysta. people passing them looked at shu with judging gazes, and usually he would go hide somewhere the sun would never reach, but mysta’s panicked expression felt like a hit to the stomach.

“okay, okay”, the ashen whispered after he felt more stable again, “okay, i’m okay.”

“you are, you’re doing well. i’m here, i gotchu.” shu looked at him with so much innocent determination, it washed away the strain on mysta’s lungs. his sunset eyes stared into shu’s before he was starting to take in his surroundings again.

“let’s relax a bit”, the ravenette grinned, relieved, before giving mysta’s hand a gently squeeze — and both of them didn’t want to let go of each other — before dragging him to a stand that seemed to be advertising goldfish catching.

they watched each other play their rounds, giddy laughter whenever the little fish managed to jump or wiggle off the flimsy scoop net and in the end neither of them managed to get a good catch (or any catch, really).

mysta wasn’t quite surprised when he found out shu was above averagely skilled at crane games although he still couldn’t stop himself from staring at the ravenette in awe. mysta was holding onto their sixth pokémon plush toy and he could already feel all the kids around them staring in envy.

“another one, let’s gooo, babyyy”, shu presented a snorlax to the brunette and maybe it was the way his eyebrows rose or how he hold it up to him, but mysta couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small laugh.

“come on”, shu grinned and helped the other one with carrying the different plushies. mysta looked at him, puzzled: “where to?”

“the kids will eat you up alive if we won’t share some of our prizes”, the ravenette giggled and mysta swore someone just stabbed him with amor’s arrow, right through his chest, into his fast beating heart.

it didn’t even take them five minutes to hand out all the toys and when it came down to the last one, shu insisted in keeping it. mysta didn’t mind, he won it himself and he personally had no need for more plushies as his bed at home in the uk was already overflowing with those.

“so vulpix is your favorite pokémon?”, mysta grinned but instead of answering, shu’s face flushed bright red, which mysta didn’t even notice due to all the different colored lights painting the scene like they were in a dreamy movie.

“y- yeah!” mysta had to stifle a giggle, shu was an awful liar.

after about two hours shu could feel exhaustion settle in his bones, he bet he could stay longer if it weren’t for his shift. walking and standing around started to hurt his feet and his legs felt heavy to a point where they had to sit down on one of the benches for some rest.

“i’ll bring you home once you feel be’er again”, the ashen said and the tone in his voice was unfamiliar to shu, though he didn’t dislike it. he’s never heard such a determent mysta so he welcomed the change of air, feeling glad to be seen as trusted enough to see an unfiltered version of his new friend.

“sure”, shu smiled, tired but still welcoming, “we can walk along the beach, i live nearby.” mysta got up, dusted off his pants, and offered his hand to the other. shu grabbed it without hesitation and thanked him after getting pulled up. their fingers intertwined automatically and the both of them enjoyed the subtly touch of warmth, the secure feeling it gave them. they were each others life boats, softly seesawing on a never ending navy fabric between the stars mysta never got to reach and the salty water shu had seen one too many times in his life.

once they walked off the fair, the loud chatter got drowned in beach sounds. they had to cross a small plastered part with vehicles parking left and right, trailers attached to most of them. mysta was almost fascinated with the bizarre sight until a group of four men stopped them in their path.

mysta may have grown up in a secluded area of london, but distance had never stopped gangs. this wasn’t the first time he’s encountered gang members and it will never be his last — simply because he did not possess something even close to luck — so his first instinct was stepping in front of shu. there was no way he’ll let them harm the obsidian haired and if this would be some of those crazy cliché manga he read in his spare time, he’d stab out their eyes because “how dare they lay their eyes on an angelic being like shu yamino”.

“you’re kosaka’s kid, right?”, one of them asked and mysta got upset at the darkness he usually loved to bathe in because right now, he couldn’t see shit, only the silhouettes of four strongly build men with shoulders wider than his fridge.

“kosaka’s what?”, the ashen asked in confusion, dragging shu behind him even closer to his back (and to be really honest with himself: the weird angle his arm was at began to hurt him), trying to shield him away.

“don’t play stupid, boy, we saw you with her multiple times. even the color of your hair is similar.” oh. oh. they meant nina. mysta completely forgot about her last name as he associated it with his dad; all memories and information in relation to him got shoved into the back of his mind when he was old enough to understand that he was the reason his mom cried every evening for three years.

“i seriously don’t know who you’re talking about, i don’t know no kosaka or wha’ever you mean, dude”, he explained slowly, eyes narrowed, tone cold and careful. what did these men want and how was his weird aunt related to this? for christ’ sake, he didn’t even know the name of the street she lived in.

“he’s a good liar, you have to give him that!”, another guy laughed with a raspy tint in his voice, as if his throat was made out of rough corned sandpaper — it wasn’t, mysta knew, he was just a smoker and a heavy one at that, too —, “let’s just get him, she’ll react instantly.”

get him? get? as in “kidnap”? oh hell nah.

mysta’s legs were faster than the four men’s thinking process’ as he death gripped shu’s hand and ran back to the fair, into the clutter of people. the yells behind him doubled in volume and amount since mysta did not really care about the three kids he just ran over or the middle aged woman with her portion of overpriced fries.

they fought themselves through the crowd, taking turns and corners over and over; if mysta was good at something, it was mind games. he knew how to trick people, knew how to get rid of them, knew how to fuck them up real good if necessary. and for mysta, shu was his top priority and after looking over his shoulder to make sure shu wasn’t about to pass out, all he saw was a determent expression and parted lips, a small sign to the pathway to success.

they never let go of each other because if they would drown, shu was there to stop them and mysta knew that reaching for the stars would keep them afloat for a while.

chapter 1 / 3 / 4

the fic on ao3 and my twitter

[kalinara]

I feel like Reva’s redemption in Obi-Wan Kenobi, already great in its own right, really shone a light on why Kylo Ren’s redemption in the Sequel Trilogy didn’t work for me.

Now granted, it was always going to be an uphill battle for me to find a Kylo Redemption narratively satisfying.  I’ve made no secret about the fact that I didn’t really think a redemption was feasible after the events of the first and second movie.  

But I’m not an immovable object.  I’ve seen good writers pull off plot twists that on paper I’d never have liked.  And sometimes, even a redemption arc can work for me.  

But let’s be honest here.  Kylo Ren did not have a redemption arc in Rise of Skywalker.  He was perfectly happy to keep terrorizing Rey with the force up to and until his super-magical mommy died for him.  And...no.  Sorry.  That really doesn’t work.

Redemption, narratively speaking, doesn’t need to be complicated.  Especially in Star Wars.  It generally happens in one moment of choice: Darth Vader saving his son, Din Djarin going back for Grogu, and especially, Reva deciding not to kill Luke Skywalker.

Reva isn’t more redeemable than Kylo Ren because her backstory is more sympathetic (even though it is),  She’s more redeemable because she made a choice.

Kylo Ren had many many opportunities for choices, and for the most part, he chose the most evil option each time.  He didn’t have to murder Lor San Tekka, but he did.  He didn’t have to kill Han Solo, but he did.  He didn’t have to torture Poe or Rey, maim Finn, defend the Starkiller, order the massacre on Jakku and so forth, but he did.  He didn’t have to hunt the Resistance to Crayt and try to massacre them to a man.  But he did.  And so on and so forth.

I think there was one time he chose not to shoot at his mom while she was floating in space.  Which, okay, maybe a fraction of a point for that.  But he doubled down afterward, so no.

The thing was though, no one made the choice FOR Reva.  Obi-Wan didn’t do some magical mumbo jumbo.  Luke didn’t talk her down.  Owen and Beru didn’t have her at gunpoint.  She just stopped.  It was a decision anyone could make at that moment, and she made it.  She stopped.

Kylo’s redemption didn’t work for me because it’s built into the privilege he’s had all along.  There was a constant assumption both within the movie (From Lor San Tekka, from Han Solo, from Rey - trying to repeat Luke’s triumph) and from fans that Kylo would follow in his grandfather’s footsteps.  Of COURSE, Kylo will redeem himself, it’s Star Wars.

It’s a guarantee because Kylo Ren is space royalty, because of Anakin.  Redemption is treated like an inheritance.  And in the end, Kylo gets his inheritance, not through his own choice, but through Leia’s actions.  And well, not every villain has a super powered mommy magically push them into being a better person.  

Reva’s not space royalty.  She’s just a woman who had been a traumatized child, who survived through holding onto her fear, rage, and hatred.  And then, as she stares down at an innocent person, having finally found the one way she could make her enemy suffer...she stops.  She looks at who she’s become and she decides to become someone else instead.  It’s much more satisfying.

There are folks who say the best kind of redemption arcs are the ones where you can follow the person afterward and watch them become a better person.  I think that’s true...sometimes.  I have no interest in Prince Kylo magnanimously sharing the bounty of his mother’s sacrifice.  (And thankfully, I don’t have to.  His redemption, and grateful reward, are much more palatable since he dies.)

Reva though?  I’d happily watch Reva do whatever she wants to do next.  Maybe she and Haja can team up and smuggle people out of Imperial hands.  Maybe she’ll pull a Mara Jade, and go out on her own...learn about who she is outside of Imperial control.  (I still think that’d be the best way to bring Mara into the Disney franchise.)  The possibilities are endless.

[queen-pudi]

Orange Soda

Ukai Keishin x Reader 18+ Minors DNI Warning: Female masturbation, blowjob, eating pussy idk im not good with tags im sorry if I missed something😭

Masterlist

I should be sleeping but I got hit with this and needed to let this out as soon as possible. This was sorta proofread so I'm sorry if I forgot to edit somethings but my 2 am brain says this is good so ima trust it

Every day you came into that damn store just to get an orange soda. You don't even really like orange soda that much but that's not why you come in. No, you come in to see the sexy and stern shop owner who smokes like his life depends on it. Ever since you first started your visits to his store you have been completely enamored by the coach. His hardass exterior reeling you in just to have you completely head over heels for his soft and sweet interior that only a few get to see. While you were interested in finding more about the man you are wasting your money for, you were more interested in finding out what else he can do with his mouth besides breathe in that cancerous smoke Today was no different than any other day You went to work, got off work, bolted to the fastest train to get you home, swiftly, but not too fast as to not seem eager, made your way to the store and made yourself look as attractive as possible before entering the store. Immediately you were hit with the scent of cigarettes and freshly heated up pastries. Looking over you saw the eye of your affection looking as bored as ever with a cigarette hanging loosely out of his mouth. Seeing who had entered the store he perked up immediately "Evening Y/N! In for your usual?" he asked, voice conveying just how happy he was to see you, his regular that never failed to bring a smile to his face. "As if I get anything else Ukai," You say playfully as you make your way to the freezer, opening the door and grabbing your drink without looking. Its always in the same exact spot waiting for you. However, today when you looked in your hand you were holding a coke. Confused you look back only to see that the freezer had been rearranged in order to accommodate the new drinks they had received. Huffing in annoyance you look up to see your orange soda on the highest shelf looking down at you, mocking you. You reached up to grab it yet it was just a hair out of reach. You jumped slightly hoping that would help but you were met with little improvement. Grumbling in frustration you go to try again before hearing someone chuckle and footsteps drawing closer. Before you had a chance to turn around you were met with a hand reaching past your own. The air suddenly wafting in tobacco and cheap cologne "Let me help you" you hear, voice almost right against your ear Ukai pressed you up against the freezer, a hand settled on your waist as he reaches up to grab the soda. Cold air blaring from the freezer doing nothing to cool you down as you feel his breath on your neck and his warmth surrounding you. Leaning down he says into your ear, "I believe this is yours" putting it just within your reach. You take it from him and thank him as he leaves your side. You falter slightly from the feeling of his hands leaving you. Slightly flustered and annoyed with the constant back and forth between the two of you that has been going on for months with nothing to show for it, you make your way to the counter ready to pay for your drink as you decide enough is enough and you will make a move today. Maybe you were imagining it but he couldn't meet your eyes and you could see a faint blush dusted on his cheeks. "That'll be $1.25," he says, voice trying to remain strong but you heard a slight waver to it Trying to come up with an idea to keep the momentum going you stood there shuffling through your bag. You looked stupid and it was apparent as Ukai looked at you curiously "Everything ok?" he asks, curiosity lacing his voice. Having no choice it was time to make a move. After all, that standing and rustling through your bag your mind was blank except for one extraordinarily bad idea but it's better than nothing. "I am so sorry I seemed to have forgotten my wallet," you said, nervousness riddled throughout your voice yet you tried to put on a brave face he chuckled to himself

"Is that all? Don't worry about it, it's on the house"

he says, handing it to you while giving you a comforting smile. you were tempted to leave it there but you might as well see it through. "Are you sure it's ok?" you ask, nervous but never one to back down from a challenge you gathered your courage to keep up a calm front "Of course! you're a valued customer and it's just a soda" he said with such certainty in his voice and a reassuring smile on his face "Thank you but are you sure there isn't anything I can do to repay you? I'm not opposed to manual labor" you say, batting your eyelashes and jutting out your chest trying to seem as sexy and seductive as possible. Yes, this idea may have come from a porno where the customer repaid the store owner with her body and yes that may have been the exact line she said and yes you may have watched it while imaging it was Ukai. You know what they say, Horny times call for horny measures. Ukai looked at you for a while, confused as to why you were pushing so hard for a $1.25 soda but after seeing the blush on your face and the scared yet lust-filled gaze in your eyes he understood exactly what you were hinting at. Ukai would be lying if he said he never thought of you that way. Every day for the past 3 months you've been coming in with your little skirt riding up ever so slightly, tempting him to come over and dive his head in between your thighs and have you scream out his name for the whole prefecture to hear. He even rearranged the freezer so that an incident just like today would happen so he could feel your body pressed against his for just a second. Deciding to play along he put out his cigarette, ready to give you his full attention. He leaned in so that you were eye to eye, breath fanning your face making it even hotter than you thought possible. Glancing down at your lips as they shined with that pretty cherry lip gloss you always wore that made your lips look so plump and ripe for the tasting. "Depends on what you had in mind doll" he smirked, letting you take the reigns just to see how far you'd go. You started this game so might as well let you decide where this will go. Not expecting you to go too far. Deciding it was now or never you slowly inched your way around the counter, hands resting on his shoulders while slowly making their way down to his thighs, leaning into his ear chest pressed against his as he shut his eyes roughly out of the small amount of doubt he had that this was all a dream and he'd wake up to find him alone in his bed once again. Breath fanning his ear you whisper "I can think of a few things that might suffice" slowly backing away before making your way to his lips, hovering for a second before saying fuck it and slotting your lips into his. Its everything you've been hoping for and more. Ukai grabbed your head and pulled you in to deepen the kiss. Tongues dancing with each other as you both tried to convey all the feelings you've had for the past 3 months. You pulled away from the kiss to get some air making him let out a soft whimper at the loss of contact before reopening his eyes once he felt your hands inching closer to his lap. Resting on your knees you undid his pants while maintaining eye contact as if to ask if this is ok. Seeing no signs of rejection you finally rubbed over his member slowly before taking it out. You stared at it for a moment, mouth drooling with the filthy ideas you have in mind before placing a small kiss on the tip. Ukai let out a small gasp as he watched in anticipation for your next move. Placing another kiss you decided to experiment and kiss down to the base before licking a long stripe back up to the top and finally placing him in your mouth and slowly starting your ministrations. Ukai groaned as you took him in so easily, eyes rolling back in pleasure. You've barely done anything and yet you had him wrapped around your finger. Starting out slowly you bobbed your head up and down, cheeks hollowing out to help accommodate his dick. What he lacked in length, which he surely doesn't, he makes up for in girth.

Stretching your mouth wide you can already feel how sore it will be later on but you didn't care.

How could you care when the sounds he was letting out sounded so good and had you going faster just to hear more. You picked up the pace resulting in him letting out more and more moans. "Y/N" he groaned out. Finally having enough you reached under your skirt and pulled aside your panties, slowly caressing your folds before diving in to give you some sort of relief. He looked down and the sight he was greeted with almost had him come right then and there. To see you that riled up from simply sucking his dick had him on the edge of his seat and itching for release to give you what you want. Grasping your head he sank you down on his cock before fucking you at his own pace. While you were caught off guard that didn't stop you from moaning out in pleasure at the idea of being used for his own desires. Pumping your fingers into yourself faster than you ever have before. Finally, he slammed your head down and released deep into your throat causing you to gag quite a bit. Coming down from his high he peeled you off of him and reached over for a tissue while sturring out apology after apology. "I am so sorry I should have warned you, are you ok?" he asked in such haste, worried that he had screwed everything up before anything real has even started. He reached down to clean you off but was caught off guard by the blissed-out look on your face. Eyes pleading for him to do something about the state you were in In a split second, he lifted you up onto the counter and dived under your skirt to reveal a mess, a mess that he had caused and that he was more than willing to clean up. He wasted no time before plunging in and licking a long stripe on your pussy. Your head leaned back as your eyes rolled back from a pleasure that you never thought you'd have a chance to experience. You made no effort to hide your sinful noises as he continued to lap at your cunt as if he hasn't eaten in months. "Keishin!" you screamed, hand finding its way to his hair as you pulled on it to keep you grounded. This spurred him on to go faster. He decided to take it up a notch and add his fingers to the mix while focusing on your throbbing clit that's just begging to be used and abused till he is satisfied. Soon after you wrapped your legs around him and brought him as close as possible before screaming out in ecstasy "Please let me cum, please please please" you begged before him, sweat glistening your skin as you focused all your attention on the overwhelming pleasure he was so graciously bestowing upon you. For a quick second, he thought about stopping everything and leaving you there on the counter unsatisfied and begging for him just for the satisfaction of knowing he was the only one that could bring you to the edge. That was a thought for next time however, for now, he is focused on bringing you the exact same high that you gave to him. Not a second later you were screaming out his name as if it were a prayer as it was the only thing you could remember. White filling your sight as you reluctantly came down from quite possibly the greatest pleasure you've had in your life. Ukai helped you through it, drinking every last drop of what you had to offer before going in for more. You pushed him away at the overstimulation and sat up. He finally reappeared from between your thighs, being greeted with the second-best sight he's ever seen. Leaning over you reached for a tissue and began wiping at his face as he had down for you, looking into each other's eyes with a bashful grin on your faces. He helped you down as you regain your composure and fix yourself up to make yourself look somewhat presentable to the world. Collecting your things in silence you go to grab your drink and head to the door, Ukai's eyes never leaving your figure as he tried to think of something to say.

One hand rested on the door, soda in the other ready to leave and think about this moment for the next 50 years. You stop to look over your shoulder, eyes meeting his as a playful smile rested on your face. "I hope that covered the cost," you say, your voice holding a light tone yet you both know the weight it held. Sending one last wink his way you exited the store leaving him pinching himself to see if that actually happened. The next day you came back, both of you acting as if nothing happened. You barely acted any different in your interactions with him that for a second he thought that that was a one-time thing. Grabbing your drink you make your way up to the counter. Ukai is ready to make no mention of yesterday even though his heart is heavy and yearning for more. Eyes looking everywhere but you as he tried to calm down. "That'll be 1.25," he said, trying to act normal yet his tone held a sadness to it that was too obvious for his own good. Waiting for you to pay and leave just as you used to yet that never came. all of a sudden he heard an exaggerated sigh and lifted his head only to be greeted by your sultry gaze and playful grin "Omg, you are not gonna believe this but I forgot my wallet," you said, voice laced with a flirty nature that was never there before. Finally, Ukai relaxed and looked you in the eyes for the first time today. A smirk settled on his face as his eyes landed onto your lips, bearing that damn cherry gloss he can never get enough of. "Well I think I know how to fix this" Who woulda thought that porn could help you land the man of your dreams?

THANKS FOR READING!! I hope this was good and please leave a like if you like it and if you chose to follow me please let it be known I'm not a writer so I'm not gonna be active at as much I'm sorry HAVE A GREAT DAY I LOVE YOU ALL

[youssefguedira]

diabolik brain worms inspired whatever this is enjoy

there is now more to this au!

[you are here (prologue)] [part one] [part two] [part three]

The window slides open with a creak, and Joe smiles without turning around. “We have a door, you know,” he says over his shoulder.

“Just keeping you on your toes,” Nicky responds. “I could've been anyone. You're getting careless, amore.” He closes the window behind him.

It's not true, and they both know it: there's a knife in his hand that he's using to cut vegetables for dinner and two more hidden in the kitchen, within easy reach, that Joe could have used if he thought Nicky was a threat. In the earliest days of their acquaintance, he would have. But he trusts Nicky now, and besides, Joe was expecting him.

Joe still doesn't turn around, but he hears Nicky pull off his mask with his usual muttered complaints about how uncomfortable it is and laughs.

“It's less funny when you're the one who has to wear it,” Nicky grumbles, but he's not really annoyed. Joe can hear him smiling.

Joe's missed him.

With the mask off and tossed idly onto the kitchen table - Joe will complain later about Nicky not bothering to hide it well enough, but right now he's still too happy that Nicky's home to be bothered - Nicky crosses the room to stand behind Joe, wrapping his arms around Joe's waist from behind, his hand flat against Joe's stomach, nuzzling into Joe's neck. “Hi,” he murmurs.

Joe leans back into the familiar warmth, setting down his knife and closing his eyes. Nicky always gets like this after a job, especially one that requires them to be apart for a while - it's been six days since they saw each other last to go over the plan one last time, and then parted ways to maintain their cover, and Joe's missed him like a lost limb. So he's not complaining. “Hi. How'd it go?”

“Perfectly.” He feels Nicky smile against his neck as he sways them both back and forth. “They didn't suspect a thing, and you were right about the security system. You're a genius, my heart.”

Joe's smile widens. “You're beginning to make me wonder how you ever got by without me.”

“I managed not to get caught.”

“Not true,” Joe says. "Remember Milan?”

“I thought we agreed not to mention that,” Nicky says.

Joe laughs at him, but lets it go. Truth be told, he doesn't like to think about Milan much, doesn't want to think about how close he'd come to losing Nicky for good.

He turns in Nicky's arms instead of continuing with that train of thought, looping his own around Nicky's neck. Nicky smiles at him, soft.

“Do you have it with you?”

Nicky shakes his head. “I met with Andy before coming here. She'll drop the information off with Copley, Quynh will sell everything else. Booker's already working on making sure we didn't leave any traces behind. But I did bring you something.” He slides a silver ring off of his finger and holds it out between them.

Joe takes it and holds it up to the light, tilting it back and forth, studying the delicate geometric engravings on its surface, before slipping it onto his own finger. “It's beautiful, Nico. Thank you.”

Nicky smiles again. “I missed you.”

Joe (finally, he's been wanting to since he heard Nicky open the window, or scratch that, since Nicky left for Rome) kisses him.

They've come so far to be here, now, and Joe wouldn't trade any of it for the world. The close calls, the constant moving around, the time Nicky almost died in Milan - Joe thinks they were all worth it for this, for the way Nicky's hand skims over his back and comes to rest between his shoulder blades, pressing them closer.

“I talked to Andy,” Nicky says when they part. “She and Quynh will take the next job, so all we’ll need to do is be backup. And even then, that won’t be for a few months. But it’s just you and me until then.”

“Malta?” Joe asks. That carries much better memories for both of them.

Nicky grins. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Joe leans in to kiss him again. And tomorrow they’ll need to face reality - they’ll need to leave this apartment soon, probably won’t be able to come back to Italy for a while, just to be safe, and maybe they’ll start taking jobs in a few other countries, because Copley will be able to find them something no matter where they go, but it’ll take time to get their affairs in order and the money from this job sent off to people who need it, and they’ll need to get to work soon, because law enforcement will be looking out for them and they’ll need to be careful - but for now, Joe doesn’t think about any of it. Just pulls Nicky closer.